Hellbound
by Theyumenoinu
Summary: Claire supposed, in another reality, if he hadn't become Sylar, this peculiar magnetism between them could have had potential. However, in this lifetime, any possibility of an intimate connection had been permanently shot to hell the moment he waltzed into Union Wells High School with the intent to kill her. Not exactly an enchanting first meeting. Sylar/Claire(Full summary inside)


**Summary: **

**Claire supposed, in another reality, if he hadn't become Sylar, this peculiar magnetism between them could have had potential. However, in this lifetime, any possibility of an intimate connection had been permanently shot to hell the moment he waltzed into Union Wells High School with the intent to kill her.**

**Not exactly an enchanting first meeting. **

**At least by her definition. **

**-Sometimes, it's the least expected person who makes a terrible decision, Nathan being that person when he prompted a countrywide witch-hunt of their kind. Unfortunately, there were no free-passes for anyone, including Claire. Kidnapped and locked away in a facility for "Specials", Claire escapes and formulates a plan to rescue those imprisoned, and shut-down the government operation with the one person she didn't expect to partner with.-**

**Disclaimer: I do NOT own Heroes or any of its characters.**

**Pairing: Sylar/Claire (Slow Build)**

**A/N: What is this?! A fic that ISN'T Star Trek (or Kirk/Spock)?! My gawd, it's a miracle. For those who follow me and may be thinking, "What the hell? Go finish the other fics!" Don't worry, I'm currently writing the next chapters. I just became so entranced with this fandom and pairing...I had to write it. I'm sorry, okay, I'm so so sorry! I'd love to give you a better excuse, but I don't have one. Please don't hurt me. **

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**Hellbound**

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**Chapter One**

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_Run_. Claire chants as a mantra.

Although there is a persistent ache in her side that steals the breath from her lungs, she still presses on, pumping her legs to their limits. At the moment, she's immensely grateful for joining the cross-country team on a whim, knowing someday agility would prove to be more advantageous than choreographed dance routines.

However, when the chain snaps tautly, it serves as a quick reminder that she's incapable of achieving full speed under the circumstances. The metal bites into the flesh of her wrist and forces her to ease her pace so the man who's also attached to the same pair of handcuffs wouldn't end up tripping.

"_C'mon!_" She desperately ushers him along, hearing the pitter-patter of paws in the brush, the crunching of steel-toed boots tromping through the forest, gaining ground.

Glancing at the man beside her, fear coiled in a tight ball within her core as she assessed his condition. His consciousness appeared to be returning in increments, barely cognizant of their current predicament. Each movement he made was languid and uncoordinated; hardly keeping pace. With the narcotics still filtering through his bloodstream, hindering his mobility, capture seemed imminent. The glass cells "The Company" utilized to imprison their kind would definitely be more preferable than where they'd eventually end up.

And as much as she hated to admit it, she needed him.

A frigid wind from virtually nowhere howled through the branches, and violent shivers wracked her body with each icy blast. Dark clouds hindered her ability to see as they rolled overhead, blocking the dim cast of moonlight. With no other choice but to keep running, they continued to stumble along in the darkness; striving to avoid a collision as they maneuvered through an onslaught of trees and shrubberies.

An involuntary hiss of pain slipped from Claire's lips as they clambered clumsily over a fallen tree; warm blood trailing down her flushed skin as an unseen offending branch scrapped along her cheek. It seemed the medication the facility force-fed her for the past several months had efficaciously created a neurological blockade, temporarily switching off her ability to heal. The residual effects causing the wound to bleed unrelentingly, preventing any sort of regeneration.

Death was now essentially something to fear.

Quick shallow pants gave her a split second warning before jaws clamped down onto her calf, teeth sinking deep into the tissue. A strained cry ripped from her as the dog vigorously shook its head from side to side, tearing into her leg without restraint.

Losing her bearings, the two of them toppled to the forest floor in a heap, the man's breath leaving him with an audible _huff_. The pain was unbearable, and tears stung her eyes as she clenched her free hand into a fist, striking at the beast's head repetitively. The retaliation only caused its jaw to lock, spittle mixing heavily with her blood as it snarled—resolved to keep her firmly situated.

Shouts carried over the wind, the men's flashlights now visible in the distance.

_This is it, _She thought dishearteningly. _We've been caught._

Before she could fully accept her fate, the dog was suddenly pried from her leg, its pained whine piercing the air as it was flung somewhere amongst the trees. A swish of cloth and crunch of gravel grated against her ears before a strong hand latched onto her arm. Incomprehensible noises filtered from her mouth as he aided her to her feet and guided her away from the fast approaching enemy; white-hot pain igniting every nerve with each arduous step.

"You killed it," She accused breathlessly. The injury caused her leg to buckle, and she stumbled into him as they steadily begun their descent down the slope—silently thankful for the hand keeping her upright. "Do you really _not_ have a conscious?"

Scoffing, he brought them to an abrupt halt. Repositioning himself to better support her weight, the handcuffs connecting them twisted uncomfortably with the odd position. "I think this is hardly the time for a lesson on moral principles, Claire," Sylar admonished her, half-dragging her along.

She really wanted to dispute that, but he did make a valid point. "Can't you restrain them for a while?"

An incredulous huff escaped him, the not so subtle _you-poor-naïve-little-girl_ undertone apparent in his voice, "If I was capable of that, do you believe we'd be running?" _I'd be redecorating the interior of the building a delightful shade of red_, was the unspoken subtext.

Claire shook her head, instantly regretting it when the world tilted under her feet. "I guess you really _are_ just like the rest of us."

"Don't insult me, Claire," He intoned, gripping her arm hard enough to bruise for emphasis. "Or next time, I just might _let_ you be torn to pieces."

Despite the fact he was a cold-blooded serial killer, she supposed a bit of appreciation would be in order for the rescue; however, a grudging 'thank you' was as far as it would go. The last thing she needed was for him to believe there might be a possibility of newfound feelings, and _that_ would certainly be a chilly day in Hell if it were to happen.

And it wouldn't as long as she was still breathing.

The _crack_ of gunfire gave her a start, adrenaline rushing through her as she impelled herself to match his pace. Claire had, over time, become adept fleeing from potential danger, the absence of self-preservation giving her an advantage. Acclimating to it, however, was difficult once it made a startling return; the amateur lobotomy Sylar had performed on her while lying prone on the coffee table of her own house being the essential trigger—stealing not only her ability, but any semblance of normality she'd strived to maintain.

_I guess I should thank him for that, as well, _Claire bitterly mused, noting the concerning depletion of her energy as they reached the bottom of the slope.

"We'll wait them out over there," Sylar unexpectedly rasped in her ear, redirecting her toward a large ominous mass merely a few feet from them. Claire complaisantly allowed him to guide her without protest; appealing to his controlling nature, and warily giving him the benefit of the doubt that he was leading her somewhere safe.

At least for now.

Reaching their apparent refuge, Claire jerked with alarm as her foot bumped against what she could only assume was a step. Groping the air blindly to investigate, her fingers lightly brush over the weathered wood railing, instantly confirming what she'd thought.

Sylar's arm snaked around her waist, and reeling her in, he lifted her like a helpless toddler before ascending the narrow flight of stairs; the wind drowning out the soft thumping of his bare feet. The close proximity permitted unwanted distractions, her senses taking in more than she'd care for, especially when it came to _him_. She attempted, quite futilely, to ignore the spicy scent of aftershave burning her sinuses, and the toned muscles flexing underneath the standard orange jumpsuit. Claire supposed, in another reality, if he hadn't become Sylar, this peculiar magnetism between them could have had potential. However, in this lifetime, any possibility of an intimate connection had been permanently shot to hell the moment he waltzed into Union Wells High School with the intent to kill her.

Not exactly an enchanting first meeting.

At least by her definition.

Deciding against using the front door of the cabin, Sylar opted instead to follow the veranda around to a side window—releasing her a moment later to pry it open.

Taking stock of their dire situation, she heaved a heavy sigh. Breaking and entering would definitely fall under the category of, "_things I have in common with a psychopath"_, and Claire wasn't about to allow him the chance to prove his theory that they were one and the same.

Leaning her full weight in the opposite direction to indicate her disapproval, she quietly hissed, "What the _hell _do you think you're doing? We _can't _go in there!"

Sylar remained rooted to the spot, blatantly disregarding her protests. Strangled sounds emitted from him while he strained to budge the window, a pent up breath escaping him when it finally yielded to his strength. Without a word, he fluidly slipped inside, unceremoniously yanking her along despite her apprehension, nearly causing her to bash her head against the window frame in the process.

Distinct footfalls sounded mere moments after clambering inside, both of them immediately crouching low when a light briefly illuminated the room through the open window above them.

Sweltering from exertion and blood loss, Claire had not been aware of the rain until now, and she silently thanked her lucky stars for the storm's impeccable timing; knowing the bloody trail was already dissolving from the deck.

Either convinced they weren't inside or concerned about the increasing intensity of the storm, the man abruptly retreated back into the wilderness. Claire resolved to remain stationary until she was certain the coast was clear, collapsing onto the floor shortly afterward in a boneless pile. The rain pelted the windowsill violently, and it sprayed the burning flesh of her face as she lied there; their shallow uneven breaths and howling wind the only accompanying sounds in the darkness.

With her energy expended, she was too weak to protest when Sylar hauled her up onto her feet a moment later, and dragged her across the room. Clutching her pliant body firmly but awkwardly to him, he commenced rummaging through the drawers one-handed, intent on finding something he apparently believed would be there. Head lolling from the lack of support, Claire begun to fade in and out of consciousness, the pain strangely abating.

Exactly how much blood had she lost?

Locating the item he'd been searching for, the contents rattled in the plastic case as Sylar dragged her to the bed. Depositing her onto the mattress, he placed the container close to their shackles, and unintentionally—or at least she hoped it had been—twisted the cuffs painfully so he could work with both hands. The pain in her wrist paled in comparison to the stinging from her leg, and she groaned miserably when sudden pressure was applied.

Claire stared absently into the darkness, listening as he laboriously worked at the wound on her leg. Thoroughly drained of energy, she found herself unable to resist the demanding pull of her body, and steadily commenced drifting into unconsciousness.

"Stay awake, Claire," Sylar's voice seemed miles away as her eyelids involuntarily slid shut. "_Claire,_" A hand grasped her chin roughly, the other slapping each side of her face, but it still wasn't enough to prevent the inevitable.

The expletive he emphatically expressed faded into the distance along with all distinctive noise, leaving her in a shell of utter silence.

_Why is he helping me? _Was the last coherent thought she had; the unyielding darkness consuming her completely.

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**A/N: Reviews, follows, favorites are much appreciated (and loved!). **


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